In My Cups and Loving It

Rain on the windows etches linenfold panels on the glass panes and splatter paints the umbrella out on the deck. The garden and old trees beyond are barely visible in the downpour and the murk. Water hitting the roof tiles, running through the eaves and downspout and gushing into the rain barrel at the corner of the house is a pleasing sound. We are a long way from the Bay of Bengal for such seasonal weather phenomena, but this day has a monsoon vibe, and no mistake.

One of my great aunties, I can't remember which one, used to refer to spells of uncontrolled weeping and wailing as "having monsoons", and the phrase has stayed with me since I heard it years ago. Having monsoons is surely a more graceful way of describing unsightly displays of whining, caterwauling and waterworks.

On this side of the windows is a stack of journals, mostly blank because they are too lovely for my scrawling and hen scratching. There too are pens, a candle in a jar and a beaker holding a fragrant lagoon of Darjeeling, also a couple of tarot/oracle decks. The art glass chandelier above the table turns everything on its surface into tiles and tesserae and little squares of light. Looking at it, I am off and thinking of mosaics.

Gardening in such weather is out of the question, and I have to do something. This is a good day for reorganizing bookshelves, art and stationery cupboards, for reordering the multitudinous folders on this computer. It is also grand day for drinking tea and reading, for rocking gently along with Scarlatti's keyboard sonatas, the Mozart horn concertos, the Bach preludes and  anything at all by Antonio Vivaldi. Also, the Mediaeval Baebes and the Kingsfold Suite.

Tucked somewhere in the midst of such lovely pursuits are bowls of fresh strawberries and peaches, a batch of molasses cookies, scones and a loaf of sourdough. Having a day like this once in a while is no' a bad thing.